


If You Think You Can...

by TehLadyCav



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Best Friends in awkward places, Death, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Murder, Sadism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8429161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLadyCav/pseuds/TehLadyCav
Summary: Jo is a murderer. Negan is a sociopath. Can they come together as one to defeat their one mutual enemy--the walking dead? Or will it all be for nothing in the end?





	1. Chapter 1

“Jo, they’ve given you two options. Trial by jury for murder one or you plead guilty to voluntary manslaughter and serve five to seven years. Maybe three with very good behavior.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Five to seven years?”

Foster glanced at her over his wire-rimmed glasses with a disapproving frown from the top to the bottom of his face. “Or trial by jury for murder one. With the death penalty as an option.”

She scraped her hands over her tired, dirty face. “Either way I’m looking at prison.”

“Better five to seven than life or deathrow.”

She waved her hand at him. “I know, I know how this goes. I don’t have a fucking choice, now do I?”

“Of course you do, but as your attorney I’d recommend the voluntary manslaughter charge.”

She pulled her knees to her chest and stared out the window. “I’ll never have a solid job again. Not one that I love…”

If she looked at Foster she would see the, well maybe you shouldn’t have murdered that man, look on his sleazy face. Instead she tapped her toes on the shiny, cracked vinyl of the chair cushion, listening to the scuffing of the jail sneakers.

Murder. If someone had told her she would be prosecuted for murder at the ripe old age of twenty-seven she would have laughed in their faces. She wasn’t a murderer. She couldn’t even bear to stomp on spiders or crickets. 

Outside the window the birds chittered and chirped, enjoying their freedom. She would give anything to fly away. To be anywhere but there. To be holding Daniel’s hand again. His warm, calloused hand. But Daniel lived in another state now with another woman and more grief than one man should have to carry.  
Everything was her fault. 

The worst part? She didn’t have one iota of regret for what she’d done. She just regretted that she got caught. Regretted throwing her marriage away. Regretted the dark, deep place she’d lived in for the past three years.

Jo cleared her throat and looked back at Foster, the balding asshole. “Fine. What do I have to do?” 

Everything had been sealed and completed in less than a month. Packaged up and sent up the river on a crowded, sweaty bus with a bunch of unruly, screaming women. Jo paid them no heed, preferring to watch the trees zoom by as they came closer and closer to their destination. Fear and bile filled her throat, but Jo kept her face as impassive as possible. Any sign of weakness and these women would eat her alive.

Outside the day was sunny and full of life. The kind of day Jo and Daniel loved. They’d sneak off into the woods to shoot their guns in true redneck fashion. Tin cans and bulls-eyes. Jo was better at it than Daniel. She’d grown up around all that shit, while he’d sat on his pansy ass and studied engineering books.

Jo had introduced him to the wild side of life, the redneck side and he’d fucking loved it. 

The bus juttered and brought her back to the present, to the women in the drab gray jumpsuits, the shouts, the clinking of chains around them. There was no going back to who she was. There never would be.

She tried to sleep, only managing to successfully doze here and there, jumping awake when the bus flew over a speed bump or pothole. 

Though she truly awakened when the bus rolled to a stop and the bus driver leaned forward. “What in the holy rolling fuck is that?”

Jo glanced out the window and gasped as a graying hand slapped her window. She jerked back into the women beside her who shoved her forward. “Get the fuck off me.”

“Shut your goddamn whore mouth and look the fuck over there,” Jo said jerking her cuffs in the direction of the pounding hand.

“Whore mouth? Bitch who—”

“—enough! Look at those people. They’re…they’re sick.”

The bus driver glanced back at them and shook her head. “I ain’t dying for you all. Not today.”

When she opened the doors, chaos ensued. The screaming escalated from a dull roar to a high pitched shrieking that pierced her ears.

The sick people boarded the bus shortly after the driver had gotten off.

Jo watched with morbid fascination as the first sick person bit into the neck of the nearest guard, sending warm gussets of sticky red blood oozing down her body. She felt rooted to the spot, unable to move as her seat partner jerked her chain over and over.

More and more sick people boarded the bus and Jo slithered down in the seat as more of her fellow detainees began to get eaten. The irony smell of blood wafted back to her, making her retch slightly. 

She gave a hysterical laugh. She’d asked God so many times to get her out of this. Was this his sick twisted way of answering her? She trembled, a coward to the end. Death was not what she wanted. No, she wanted life. She’d always wanted life.

She scrambled back into the cold metal of the bus as the woman beside her was taken down. In her line of work, Jo had seen a lot of shitty things. Lots of dead, bloated corpses. Kid corpses. Emaciated corpses. Bloody and mangled corpses. But they’d never stood up and walked, never had eaten another human.

Looking at them, she realized they weren’t people. No, some of them were in the early stages of rigor mortis, walking with a stiff gait. Others still had blotchy patches where the blood had pooled underneath the surface of their skin. They were most certainly dead. And hungry.

A hand grabbed her foot and she whimpered, trying to yank her leg away. But the hand grabbing her leg was warm and when she glanced down she saw one of the guards, bloody and dying, slide the keys under the seat.

Jo mouthed the words thank you and snatched them up, quickly unlocking her cuffs. For a brief moment she thought about seeing if there was anyone else to rescue, but decided against it. These were the dregs of society and the less that lived, the better.

Scrambling up onto the seat, she yanked her gray sweatshirt off and wrapped it around her elbow before smashing it through the window of the bus. She bashed and bashed until there was no more glass and wriggled out of the bus, climbing on top.

Jo rolled onto her back, panting. One minute. She would give herself one minute and then it would be time to run. 

As luck would have it, most of the dead were on the bus, occupied with devouring the living. That’s when Jo made her escape into the woods, grabbing a sharp stick as she went along. She swerved and bobbed around the trees, avoiding what animals and dead things she could.

It was nightfall when she finally collapsed against a tree, panting, her lungs on fire as she desperately tried to suck in breath after breath. 

Shelter, her brain screamed at her. Shelter and water.

She glanced up and laughed when she saw the smoke curling up into the night sky. Perfection. 

She approached the campsite with the utmost of care, eyes shifting back and forth, looking, looking for one of the dead or one of the living. The only thing she saw was a big, broad man hunched over the fire. There was no way she wanted to tussle or trade or band with him. A man like that could throw her over his shoulder and carry her off into the nearest cave to do whatever.

It didn’t occur to her that he might be a good guy. Too many people had let her down for that.

Jo held her stick up and tiptoed towards the man, until she could press the stick to his neck. He jerked by a half inch and looked up at her with an incredulous look on his handsome, chiseled face.

She smiled and leaned down. “Give me your shit or I will kill you.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Whoa, wait just a fuckin’ minute there, sweetheart. Don’t you think we could uh, talk about this first?” The man said throwing his gloved hands in the air.

Jo laughed. “Nope, don’t give a fuck. Give me the pistol. Now.”

She pressed the stick more menacingly against his throat.

His dark eyes shifted every which way as he chuckled nervously. “You know I could shoot you.”

“And you know you’d be deader than a doornail. Now, that’s not exactly mutually beneficial.”

He raised one thick brow. “And you taking my shit is?”

She giggled. “Of course it is, dipshit. I get your stuff and you get to live. Thus mutually beneficial.”

He stared at her, deadpan. “Loo—”

Jo dug the tip in hard enough to draw a single pearled drop of blood. The man began to breathe heavily as he stuffed his hand in his pants and jerked the pistol free. She snatched it from his hand and put it in the waistband of her sweats.

“Now the jacket.”

His face twitched as he slowly removed his jacket and held it out to her. She threw over her shoulder with a smirk. “And now the bat.”

“No fuckin way. Over my dead fucking body.”

“Oh, I can arrange that. You have five seconds to change your mind. Five—oof!”

She grunted as he knocked the stick from her hands and lunged into her, large hands shoving her chest. Jo lost her footing on the dewy forest floor and she sailed back, landing on something hard and squirming.

Whatever it was growled in her ear and she froze. It was one of them. The dead things. Above her the man was laughing.

“Too bad you weren’t paying attention you dumb bitch,” he said with a maniacal grin. “Now, if you ask nicely, I’ll might let you have your stick back.”

Her eyes fell on the stick that lay several yards away. Jo jumped into action just as the dead thing entangled its hand in her hair. She shrieked and jerked away as it started to drag her towards it’s chomping mouth.

“Say please,” said the man, as he put his boot on the stick.

“Fucking please!”

He cupped a gloved hand around his ear. “I didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart.”

“Hand me the motherfucking stick. Please.”

His eyes narrowed but he kicked the stick over anyway. She snatched it up and drove it right into the walking corpse’s heart. The man snorted behind her, but she was too busy glancing at the wriggling thing in horror.

A moan escaped her lips as it pulled her even closer. “What…what the fuck?”

“The head. You gotta kill the fucking brain.”

“What?”

He heaved an audible sigh and crunched over to her. Crouching down, he drew out a long knife and plunged the blade into the skull of the dead thing. It twitched and fell back, though her hair was still caught in its iron grasp. She feebly attempted to paw at it with her other hand, but it wouldn’t budge without her pulling several strands out by the roots.

“You’re new to this shit, huh sweetheart?”

She licked her lips. “Can you untangle my hair? Please?”

He put his hands on his hips. “Why?”

“Because I’m asking politely. Please?”

He stood and glared down at her through half lidded eyes. His face was dark, half shadowed and obscured by the firelight behind him. Jo shivered and shrank back from the massive, menacing sight before her.

Throughout her sentencing, the jail stay and the bus ride she had stayed strong. Nary a tear left her eye. She’d been cold and impervious to it all. Now it felt like all those emotions were smacking her in the face as the tears began to roll down her cheeks uninhibited.

“Oh for fucks sake,” the man said and groaned. He rubbed an irritated hand over his face. “Why do women always do the fucking crying thing? Fucking emotional blackmail.”

She sniffed and swiped her face with her wrist. “Fuck you. You don’t know what I’ve just been through. I’m not fucking crying to get you to help me. You can go. Fuck off.”

The man growled at her and hunched down again. He cupped her face in his hand, squishing her cheeks together. “You won’t fucking try any bullshit if I let you go?”

She swallowed. “Probably not.”

He raised a dark brow. “Probably not?”

“I can’t guarantee you won’t be an asshole…I might have to shank you.”

He laughed, a deep, rich and rolling sound that crashed over her like a warm and comforting ocean wave. She hiccupped and gave him a little smile.

“I’m gonna have to fucking cut it.”

She sighed. “Go ahead. It’s just fucking hair anyway.”

He rubbed his thumb over her lip before letting her go and grasping a handful of her long, golden brown hair. “How short do you want it, sweet thing?”

“Not too short and never call me that again,” she said.

He chortled and began slicing off bits of her hair. Jo winced and sighed every time a piece came off.

“Man up, sweetheart. I’m not fucking hurting you.”

She cut a glare in his direction. “I know. It’s just fucking hair.”

“Clearly, it fucking isn’t.”

She said nothing and turned towards the campfire. “You know, you really should put that shit out. No telling who or what you might attract.”

“Like little murderesses?”

She looked at him, tilting her head to the side and smirking. He had no idea. “Or worse. One of those.”

He glanced up from her hair. “Roamers? Eh, I can deal with them.”

“Roamers, hm? What exactly has been going on?”

“Fuck if I know. One day they just started walking and the world went to hell in a mother fucking handbasket. You been in jail?”

She started and then shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Probably,” he dropped her hair and pointed to her sweats. “Kinda hard not to fucking notice that they have the name of the jail on them. What’re you in for? Not paying your parking tickets?”

She smiled at him, standing up so she hovered over him. “No. Murder.”


	3. Chapter 3

His brows shot up into his widow’s peak. “Murder?”

She smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to kill you.”

“That’s not what I remember from five minutes ago, sweetheart.”

She reached into the waist band of her sweats and handed him the revolver. “I wouldn’t have killed you. Might have hit you with the stick, but I wouldn’t have killed you. Had enough of that for one lifetime and…” she trailed off looking at the rotting corpse at her feet.

“There’s always more.”

She nodded. “So, can you forgive me for being a slight asshole?”

He grunted. “What the fuck are you apologizing to me for?”

Jo’s eyes narrowed. Typical fucking man. She pushed past him, making sure to bump into his stony chest with her shoulder. He was immovable and solid as a fucking tower and yet incredibly warm. She sniffed and sat down on the log he’d been occupying not five minutes earlier and warmed herself by the fire. It may have been spring, but the nights were still chilly.

“Oh, wait a fuckin minute. You want to team up, like some kind of fucking A squad.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “What gave it away, smartie pants?”

“I don’t even know your name and you just tried to fucking kill me. Why the fuck would I want to team up with you?”

A sigh escaped her lips. “I’m Jo and I promise I won’t try to kill you again. Two people are better than one and now that I know how to kill one of those things I can watch your back and you can watch mine. More food, more rest and more opportunity for life. Now will you come sit down and shut your face hole?”

His mouth gaped open and he stared at her—that same stupid look as before. Then his face changed, darkening with a scowl. He said nothing, but Jo could see the gears going in his head, weighing his options. Finally, he snatched up his jacket, shook it out and plopped down beside her with a grunt.

“Got any food, asshole?” She asked as she dug through his pile of stuff. When he didn’t answer she looked up at him to find him giving her a death glare. “Sorry, I just don’t know your name.”

“My name is Negan, thank you very fucking much. And no, I didn’t exactly have a fucking plan.”

Jo gestured to the baseball bat half wrapped in barbed wire. “Clearly, you had some kind of plan.”

He shrugged and scooped the bat up and placed the handle on his knees. “This is Lucille.”

She chortled. “Like B.B. King?”

He picked up the barbed wire and started wrapping it around the bat again. “Hm?”

“You know…his guitar…was named…Nevermind,” she said and shook her head. “What time is it?”

“Half past a monkeys ass—”

“—quarter to his hole? Yeah, yeah. Smart ass,” she said. “Well, if you don’t fucking mind, I’m going to sleep.”

“Whatever floats your fucking boat, sweetheart.”

She held up her hands. “Hey, this is a big trust thing. I’m showing you I trust you, so maybe you’ll trust me. You know we could have a good thing going here.”

“Only if you decide to suddenly become naked, will we have a fucking good thing going,” he said, focused on the bat. His dark eyes glittered with the eerie light of the fireplace, making Jo feel cold inside.

She scraped a hand through her unruly golden brown hair and yawned. “In the middle of the woods? Hard pass…Heh hard.”

His eyes finally cut up to her and he shook his head as if she were mental—hell she probably was. “What are you a twelve year old boy?”

She lay himself at his feet, facing the fire. “Aren’t you?”

Negan snorted. “I’m a man, it’s different.”

“Only difference is that you probably enjoy fart jokes.”

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Sleeping.”

“Can’t you fucking sleep somewhere else?”

She grinned up at him. “No, this way if there is something all you have to do is kick me and pretend it was an accident.”

 “The fuck is wrong with you, woman?”

She pillowed her head on her arm and closed her eyes. “Oh so many things, Negan. Oh, so many things.”

 

When Jo woke the next morning, Negan was gone and the campfire was out. She sat up and looked around, feeling slightly hurt that he’d left her. Not that she could blame him. She’d gone from threatening to kill him, to a hot sobbing mess, to a fucking happy chatterbox.

Everything in the past twenty-four hours felt like a distant dream. If she hadn’t woken up pressed against a log, she would have thought it truly was a dream. She rubbed her dirt crusted hands over her grimy face and sighed.

Jo had no idea where to go next or what to do. She glanced over at the dead Roamer and shuddered, remembering the bus. Knowing what they were, what they could do didn’t exactly make her feel better. She hadn’t lied when she told Negan it would have been better to pair up. Hell, she didn’t even have any weapons, she was pretty sure the fucking stick wouldn’t come out of the Roamer as pointy as it went in.

Then again, she was used to people letting her down and having to fend for herself. With that in mind she pushed herself to her feet and squinted up towards the sun. Maybe, eight or nine in the morning. Maybe. Hard to tell behind the trees.

She jumped when she heard a loud snapping branch. She turned slammed smack into Negan. Again, he was as immovable as a mountain and just as big. Her hands found his shoulders and she pushed herself away.

“Sorry,” she said, panting as she clutched her hand to her racing heart. “I didn’t see you there. I thought…”

He hauled the bat—Lucille—from his shoulder and propped her against the log. “Look, woman. I’m an asshole, but I’m not that big of a fucking asshole to just leave you helpless and alone.”

“Where were you?”

He dug into the pockets of his jacket. “Can’t a man lay a fucking log in peace?”

She put her hands up. “Sorry I asked.”

He pulled out two granola bars and handed her one. “Fresh out of water.”

Jo took the bar and smiled at him. “Well, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

“I’ve got two days max,” he said.

“We can go back to the road and hope someone finds us. Or we could be extra dumb and try to steal the bus.”

“The bus?”

She opened the wrapper with her teeth. “Prison bus. The driver had enough sense to turn it off before she abandoned us and all the Roamers got on board.”

Negan shook his head. “It’s over run.”

But Jo felt a hopeful plan bubbling underneath the surface. “There were three guards and four Roamers on there. The rest of us were prisoners…Shackled to the fucking seats. All we gotta do is clear out the Roamers and then we just take out the ones that are chained up from afar.”

She nodded to Lucille. He rubbed a hand over his unshaven face. That’s when she noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, she smiled at him. “Why don’t you get like an hour or two of rest and I’ll stand watch? Then we can carry out this stupid plan of mine.”

He looked at her and then back towards the smoking firepit and shrugged. “Fine. But if you steal Lucille, I swear on….Lucille…I will fucking fuck you up.”

She raised her right hand. “I do solemnly swear no harm shall come to Lucille whilst I am on watch.”

He stalked over to the log. “You’re a real smartass, you know that?”

She followed him and sat down. “Sure am, hoss.”

Negan shook his head at her and stretched out in the same spot she had. He placed his jacket under his head and threw an arm over his face.

Looking down at him, Jo felt an almost maternal instinct. He wasn’t exactly young, but he looked sweetly vulnerable, though he had to have been over two hundred pounds of pure man. Pure, unwashed male, though she found she rather liked his scent. Better than she ever had Daniel’s.

She snorted to herself. Was she actually considering fucking this man? Maybe. Fuck, maybe they were the only two people left on this Earth.

Tapping her toes on the grass, she glanced around. Funny, there was no game, almost no sounds of birds. The silence unnerved her, so she turned her attention to Lucille, all shiny and new, wrapped in barbed wire that glinted in the sunlight. Jo picked it up and laid it gingerly across her thighs, rubbing her thumb over the wood.

She stared down at Negan as he snored and his arm fell from his face. There was a little wisp of hair curling on his forehead. She had to resist the urge to push it from his face. A rush of pity overwhelmed her. And guilt. She'd have to make it up to him. Ugh. 

Jo hated owing people.


	4. Chapter 4

Jo licked her lips, her hazel eyes fixated on the dirty silver bus. “So, remind me of the plan again?”

Negan glanced down at her and snorted. “Not fucking nervous are you? This was your idea. Have a little fucking confidence, woman.”

“I’ve never killed one of them before,” she said, fingers tightening around the new stick with the pointy end that Negan had whittled down with his knife.

“Aim for the head. We gotta do this fucking smart though. One at a fucking time or we’ll be overrun. And fucking dead.”

Jo nodded. “Right. Okay….we can do this.”

He side eyed her and shook her head. “Just follow my fucking lead and you’ll stay alive.”

She caught his arm as he stepped forward. He raised a thick black brow at her impatiently. A smile formed on her lips. “Thank you.”

“Thank me after we’ve done this crazy fucking deal of yours.”

“I mean, thank you for sticking with me after I threatened to kill you.”

Shrugging her off, he turned back towards the bus. “There aren’t that many fucking people around anymore. Much less hot fucking women. So beggars and fucking choosers and all that crap.”

“Always the charmer, aren’t you Negan? You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were trying to get into my pants.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder and she caught a glimpse of one half hidden dimple. “No fucking shit. You ought to be a fucking detective.”

“Hah hah. Come on assman, we better get moving, daylight’s awasting. I’d like to be back at my house before it gets dark.”

“Your house? Who said we were going to your house?”

Jo looked him up and down, gesturing to his clothes. “You’re fucking Sasquatch. Those clothes fit you perfectly, so I’m assuming you’ve already been home. If you hadn’t noticed, but all I’ve got are these shitty ass sweatpants. At home I’ve got a well pump and several guns. And clothes.”

“Fair enough. Come the fuck with me. Quietly for once.”

For once? Had he forgotten she’d taken him completely by surprise the previous night? She rolled her eyes behind his back, but crept along behind him anyhow.

He stopped her at the back of the bus and squinted up. “I count…twenty of those motherfucking things. Are you shitting me?”

She shrugged. “At least fifteen of them are chained up, so easy pickings.”

He glared at her over his shoulder. “That’s still five unchained. You don’t know how dangerous these fuckers are, woman. Especially in a fucking pack.”

“A pack?”

“This is not going to fucking work—hey!”

She’d already moved around him, sidling her way up to the side of the bus, stick held high on her shoulder. Jo was a woman on a mission, and no one could stop her. Not even Sasquatch back there.

The door to the bus was still opened from where the bus driver had escaped. Jo hadn’t seen what happened to her after she ran in the woods, but she imaged it wasn’t anything good or even remotely pleasant.

She sucked in a deep breath and yelled. “Hey!”

“The fuck are you doing?” Negan hissed behind her as the first Roamer fell at her feet.

She raised her stick high and brought it down, jamming the point into the Roamer’s skull. Laughing she said, “Did you see that?! I fucking killed it!”

Negan wasn’t paying attention as he stepped from behind her, swinging Lucille at the next one flopping down the steps. Jo nearly gagged when the spray of old, congealed blood caught her across the abdomen. Not the first time she’d had dead peoples blood on her, but it never got any better. At least it wasn’t brain matter she’d tracked in the house on her shoes. Daniel had been pissed.

The third one came out, chomping and lunging for her. Jo spun out of the way, into the next Roamer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Negan!”

The thing snagged her by the waistband of her pants. Hilariously, he was too fucking close for her to stab with the stupid stick, or for her to even slam him upside the head with it.

“Why the fuck do I have to keep saving you?” He asked as he brought the bat down on the Roamer’s head, sending blood, pieces of skull and brain matter in every direction. So much for not getting brain on her.

“I promise, you won’t after I’ve had my fucking practice. We’re a team, remember? I’m sure I’ll be saving your hairy ass at some point.”

“Hairy?”

She sniggered as the next thing dropped down. This time she drove the stick into its eye socket and yanked it out with a satisfying pop. “Just a guess based on how hairy your arms are and how much sex hair you have on your face.”

“Sex hair?”

She patted her chin. “Stubble, honeypot. Stubble.”

When the fifth and final dead thing finally crawled over to them, they looked at each other and grinned. She felt the competition rise between them and at the same time they both lunged for the Roamer. She couldn’t tell who killed it first, but they’d both gotten a pretty good hit in.

She laughed. “Okay now let’s take care of the rest of the crap inside.”

It took them another hour to clear the bus without incident. Negan tossed the corpses in a pile and climbed back on the bus after her. They looked at each other, covered in guts, blood and who knew what else and they both started laughing. Jo pulled out a water bottle from under the bus drivers seat and she took a swig before passing it to Negan who greedily sucked down the rest of the bottle and then tossed it outside on the pile of dead things.

Negan threw his head back, and his deep laughter rolled over her . “I can’t fucking believe that worked.”

Jo giggled, clinging to his leather-clad bicep. “We fucking did it! I am motherfucking stoked. I told you!”

His already dark eyes deepened as their gazes crossed. She knew what was next, an instant before he bent his head and she was already standing on tiptoe with her head tilted back, lips at the ready. His hand found the small of her back and he pulled her towards his body. She willingly came even closer, pressing her belly to his own belly and against his hips and groin. Her breasts smashed against his ribcage as she curled her fingers into the sides of his smooth, no longer white shirt.

He was covered in disgustingness and she didn’t fucking care. And apparently neither did he.

The first brush of his lips was soft, teasing, caressing. Her toes and fingers tingled in response as she arched even closer to him. The second touch  of his lips was much harder and by the third pass he’d transferred his hunger, his lust and his need to her. The scrape of his stubble across the sensitive skin on her face was far more erotic than anything she’d ever experienced before.

It’d been so long since anyone had touched her that way. Since anyone had wanted her. When his hands rubbed up and down the sides of her waist, she shivered in response, relishing in his touch, his taste, his smell. Relishing in his everything.

She opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to invade, pushing inwards, flooding her mouth with warmth, wetness and sweetness. A groan escaped her lips, but Jo didn’t fight to suppress it. She wanted him to hear how much she enjoyed the feel of him pressed against her. She’d never told Daniel enough. Hell, she’d never told him at all. For the rest of her days, Jo would regret not telling Daniel how he made her feel. She vowed never to make that mistake twice.

She simultaneously pushed him away while pulling her lips from his. He stared down at her, panting worse than he had been before, the look in his eyes wild and frantic. It excited her.

She placed her hand over his rapid bumping heart and smiled up at him. “I want to fuck you.”


	5. Chapter 5

They became a flurry of teasing tongues, pulling hands and tangled limbs as each attempted to dominate the other. Finally, Negan let her push him back into the driver’s seat. Jo grinned down at him and swung her leg over his thighs, straddling him as her mouth covered his again.

His roaming hands were already half-way up her shirt, making her giggle as they glided up the soft, vulnerable flesh of her belly, both coming to a stop just under her breasts. Negan held the weight of them between his thumb and forefingers, driving Jo crazy. She arched her back, even as she swept her tongue in his mouth, wanting more, more, more.

He dipped a finger underneath the white cotton of her bra and ran a gloved finger along the curve of her breast. She moaned into his mouth, lowering herself, pressing into his growing erection. His own moans mixed with hers and he bucked his hips upwards, sending liquid fire into her core.

She lifted herself off him, the better to unbuckle his belt. T they both jumped at the loud blare of the bus horn. Jo glanced backwards and giggled. “I think my ass just hit the horn.”

His chest heaved up and down as he looked at her with eyes so dark and full of lust that she shivered. “Yeah, I fucking think so.”

They stared at each other for a few more moments, the spell broken. Negan was the first to speak. “Not that I don’t want to fuck you or anything, sweetheart, but I think we should get the fuck out of dodge first.”

Jo nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. My house isn’t far.”

Negan grinned at her. “You’re always welcome to fucking sit on my lap while I drive.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “How would you see?”

“You can be my eyes, babydoll.”

“Hard pass. While that sounds fun, the fiery death following the fun doesn’t sound nearly as pleasant.”

He tossed his head. “Your fuckin loss.”

 

Walking into her house after the whole ordeal was…surreal to say the least. There were still pictures of her and Daniel on the wall, though those could barely be seen in the dimming evening light. She flipped several switches and sighed. Either her sister didn’t pay the electric bill or the power had cut off entirely. Considering her sister, well, it was about a 50/50 shot. She supposed she would just have to find some candles. Negan hovered in the foyer as she padded into the dining room. She stopped at the china cabinet and she started laughing. It was beginning to look like her sister hadn’t paid the bill after all. Typical Anna.

“The fuck is so funny?” Negan asked from the archway.

She looked at him over her shoulder. In her small, delicate house, he looked like a bull in a china shop. And yet, she found she liked it. His imposing self was bathed in the golden light streaming through the window. There was something about him, standing there with his hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning against the frame of the arch and looking at her with earnest eyes. Several wisps of hair fell endearingly across his forehead giving him a slightly youthful appearance, though the hard lines on his face betrayed his true age.

He raised a dark brow at her and she chuckled, shaking her head. “My sister stole my wedding china.”

“Stole? Weren’t you going to prison? Don’t you lose all your shit?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t gonna be there forever. I got six years. Potentially three with very good behavior.”

He sauntered into the dining room, setting Lucille on one of her good chairs. She winced, but said nothing. He stalked around the room, running his hands over the paintings and the pictures around the room.

He stopped in front of the wedding portrait of her and Daniel. “Who’d you kill?”

Jo turned back to the curio cabinet, pressing her lips together. All the bouncy energy from earlier seemed to seep out of her. She didn’t want to tell him about this. She wanted to move on from the whole nightmare. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head so finally she sighed. “A friend.”

“Jesus, woman. Some friend you are.”

She snatched three Yankee candles from the cabinet and slammed the door shut with her foot. “Fuck you, Negan.”

He turned to her and shrugged. “It makes no difference to me—what you were before. I mean, as long as you don’t fucking kill me, or try to, we’ll be fine.”

She said nothing as she lit the candles. He knew nothing about her and yet she could feel the judgment coming from him. He’d already divided them in his mind. She was a killer. He was not. There was already a ravine between them…What the fuck was she thinking? They’d only known each other for a day, and here she was thinking about a future or something with him. God, she was stupid.

She picked up one of the candles and moved silently around Negan towards the kitchen. Inside she kicked herself, annoyed that she let yet another person under her skin.

“So,” Negan asked, following her and watching as she hauled a twelve pack of water from underneath the sink. “What’d you do for a living before all this?”

She grabbed a butter knife and cut through the plastic. “I used to work as an MDI for the ME’s office.”

“Run that by me again?”

Jo glanced up at him from the floor. “MDI. Medicolegal death investigator for the Medical Examiner’s office.”

He furrowed his brow and tilted his head. “The fuck is that? Like CSI shit?”

She handed him a few waters. “You watch too much TV. When someone dies you have more than just the crime scene technicians and the detectives at the scene. It’s a huge collaborative effort with multiple departments and agencies. My job was to investigate how/why the person died.”

He opened one of the waters and tipped it back into his mouth. When he was finished, he wiped his lips with the back of his wrist. “That’s why the Roamers didn’t bother you.”

She pushed herself back up into a standing position with a slight grunt. “What?”

“You didn’t seem phased by them at all. I thought that was fucking weird. But I guess you’re used to seeing weird ass shit.”

“Sadly, these are not the first human eaters I have ever seen. And truth be told, I’m still in a bit of shock. I think I’ll feel more normal tomorrow. Whatever normal is anymore.”

He drained the water bottle and put the plastic on the counter. “So, a fuckin death investigator. How the hell did you get caught for murdering someone then?”

Jo slammed her hand on the counter, making Negan jump. “Is this all we’re going to fucking talk about? My killing someone? If it bothers you that much, there is the door, don’t let it hit you or Lucille in the ass on the way out.”

He threw up his hands in mock self-defense. “Excuse me for wanting to know who I’m fucking travelling with. You cannot begin to fathom where I am fucking coming from. You threatened to kill me the first time we met, then you tell me you were headed to prison for murder. You fucking see where I am headed with all this shit then?”

“I could have killed you a thousand times over, Negan. But I didn’t. So trust me when I say, I don’t want to kill you, I don’t want you dead. What I did was then and you need to get over it. Or you can leave. Your fucking choice. Because I don’t ever want to fucking talk about this shit ever again.”

He eyed her warily. “Yeah, because my fucking side doesn’t have merit at all.”

She shoved him, though he was immovable as a brick wall. “I did what I did and I won’t ever take it back. I was put in a situation that I was essentially forced to do it and if I were in that situation again, I would do it again, but I would never just randomly kill someone. I actually like people. Before all this I had lots of friends and family and a husband. When it happened I lost everyone. And yet, I still like people. So don’t put me in that box when you know nothing about me. Don’t pretend you know me after a day.”

“Are you on your period?”

Jo blinked up at him incredulously. “Are you fucking…Are you fucking joking right now?”

“Hey, you went from normal to crazy in like five seconds there.”

She snatched up a candle and marched out of the kitchen, her bottle of water in the other hand. “You’re a fucking jerk.”

He followed her, snagging Lucille along the way. “Hey, it was a fucking question okay? No need to get your panties in a twist!”

She stomped up the stairs and into her bedroom. Negan attempted to follow her inside, but she thrust out her hand, catching him at chest level. He stopped with a confused look on his face. “What?”

“You can sleep on the fucking couch. OR better yet, sleep outside.”

He flashed rows of bright white teeth in her direction. “I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

“I can’t. I’m on my period,” she sniffed and slammed the door in his face, locking it behind her.

What an asshole.  


	6. Chapter 6

Jo didn’t sleep well that night. The pale, shaggy face haunted her dreams, weaving in and out with its accusatory gray stare. Half-way through the night, Daniel joined in, kicking her and screaming at her while shoving a rather giant snake in her face.

Finally, she gave up on sleep and rolled out of bed, staggering to the window. Judging by the light outside it was somewhat close to midnight. She unlocked her window and stuck her face into the cool, spring air, gulping in several lungful’s. The air had never tasted sweeter to her. She hadn’t expected to be free. Hadn’t necessarily cared in the end, but now, she was glad the world had ended.

She pulled her head back in and closed the window, locking it for good measure. She padded her way downstairs and stopped in the archway of the living room when she saw an enormous figure, illuminated by the moonlight, crammed and jigsawed on her loveseat. Negan had stayed. Her eyes fell on the baseball bat beside the couch. Correction. Negan and Lucille had stayed.

A smile came to her lips. She was glad he stayed. Even though he was a pain in the ass, and slightly obnoxious, Jo was glad she wasn’t alone. She had a feeling that Negan shared the same idea, but would never admit it to anyone.

She slipped out of the room and into the guest room, where she snagged the blanket from the bed and dragged it back into the living room. Jo draped it over Negan’s hunched body, making sure his feet and arms were covered, before she went to sit at her dining room table.

She lit the candle and watched the shadows dance on the opposite wall. Where would they go? What would they do? Her first instinct was to seek out the company of others, after all weren’t there safety in numbers? Then again, she’d also seen the dregs of humanity, so she wondered if that was indeed the best idea after all. She would just have to ask Negan in the morning.

Jo spent the rest of the night running her fingers over the grains in the wood of her table, lost in thought. She jumped when she heard a clatter in her kitchen, sometime early the next morning. Had she fallen asleep?

Rising to her feet, she stretched and popped her neck. She supposed she should see what Negan was up to.

She snorted at the sight of him stirring the eggs with his back to her. Even though she'd only known him for a day, she could just fucking picture the look of concentration on his face. She tried not to smile at the sight of his rumpled hair or his wrinkled slept in shirt.

She cleared her throat and he turned to look at her over his shoulder. Damn, he looked fine with that messy hair and two day beard. She resisted the urge to walk over and smooth her fingers over his face.

He gestured to the frying pan. "Thought I'd make breakfast for you."

"That’s kind of you. Thank you,” she said, padding her way past him and reaching for a bottle of water on the counter. Her breasts brushed his back and he looked down at her with a glimmer in his eye.

She smiled sweetly at him. “Where'd you get the eggs?"

The smile on her face must have surprised him, for he raised a brow at her. He kept one eye on the eggs and the other on her. "They were in your fridge. Didn't fuckin smell or anything."

She tipped the water in her mouth and nodded, replacing the cap. "Thanks."

He nodded at her as he studied her face. "Yeah."

The bump of her heart increased at his stare making her cheeks flare with heat, so she turned away to grab some paper plates from the cabinet and put them, along with a few plastic forks on the table. Negan sauntered over with the frying pan and spatula and scraped the food on their plates. He ambled back into the galley kitchen and dumped the pan and spatula unceremoniously into the sink.

Jo’s elbow rested on the table with her chin perched on her hand as she watched the tall, broad man clutter up her home. His muscles rippled in that tight, white shirt of his as he bent down to grab a water bottle from under the sink.

When he stood up he caught her staring. Instead of glaring at her, a small, sexy smile spread across his face. He knew that she’d been checking him out and now he wanted her to know that he knew. Jo merely smiled back and popped an egg into her mouth, never looking away. He sat across from her and dug in himself.

They ate in relative silence, eyeing each other occasionally, both with growing smiles on their faces. It made eating spam, tolerable. Jo fucking hated spam, but she ate it to be polite. It was a nice gesture. Hell it was a nice fucking gesture of him to stay with her too. And she couldn't even blame him for being apprehensive about her murdering someone. She'd feel the same in his shoes.

Sighing to herself, she realized she needed to apologize. Even if it would ruin the flirty air between the two of them.

She frowned suddenly and put her fork down. “Negan.”

He paused with his own fork half way to his mouth, brows raised. “Yes?”

She looked at the table and began to play with the plastic utensil. “I’m sorry about last night. I just…I don’t like talking about what happened. I’m not…I don’t…I have no excuses for what I did. I have no remorse for what I did. But I had very good reasons for what I did. I don’t go killing willy-nilly. The only way I would ever kill you is if I were forced to. I never did intend to kill you the other day. I was just going to kick you in the nuts and run with your stuff.”

Negan shoved the eggs in his mouth and chewed slowly, thoughtfully, considering her. “Apology accepted.”

“Thank you for not leaving.”

He snorted. “Where the fuck else would I go?”

She smiled. “Someone’s grumpy this morning.”

He tossed his head to the side. “Yeah, well your fucking couch is awful.”

“I have a guest room, you know.”

“Didn’t want to fucking push my luck.”

They fell silent again with Jo watching him shovel the rest of the food in his mouth.

“So,” he said, ten minutes later, tossing his fork on his empty plate and leaning back in the chair. “Where to?”

She shrugged. “You have any ideas? I was thinking we might need to group up with people, find them, but…then again, that might not be the best of ideas.”

“There’s safety in numbers,” he said, rubbing a hand down his stubbled face. “You just have to find the right kind of fucking people. Too many idiots, you die. Too many pricks, you die.”

“So, what kind of people are we looking for then?”

“We’ll know ‘em when we see ‘em.”

Jo nodded. “Alright then. Where to start?”

“Got a map?”

She shrugged. “My husband might have one around here somewhere.”

Together they pawed through the kitchen junk drawers, until Negan snagged a large and rather crumpled map. He spread it out on the table and they both leaned over it.

“If I was a normal person, I would probably go to one of the military installations—why are you laughing at me?”

Negan’s shoulders were shaking as he grinned over at her. “If you were a normal person?”

Jo sniffed and turned back to the map. “There is the base in DC. There is the Marine base in Quantico. Ft. Meade. Andrews Air Force Base. Ft. Detrick.”

“Most of those are pretty fucking far, Jo.”

“Well, tell me, do you have any better ideas?”

Negan sat down and rubbed a hand over his chin, eyes glued to the map. “We should start out scavenging for supplies. Camping shit. Clothes. What the fuck ever.”

She grinned. “We might even find people along the way.”


End file.
